


Not According to Plan

by CrossMyDNA



Series: All Or Nothing [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Cuddling, First Dates, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Making Out, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 12:57:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9386276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrossMyDNA/pseuds/CrossMyDNA
Summary: Sequel to You Don't Know What You Got 'Til It's Gone.Keith and Lance go on a date after ending their Friends with Benefits relationship. It doesn't turn out how they expect, but maybe that's a good thing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Mature rating is for swearing and mentions of sexual situations. If you're looking for smut, you'll be disappointed. This can be read as a standalone, but is intended as a follow-up of You Don't Know What You Got 'Til It's Gone, which is Explicit.

Keith raps his knuckles on Lance's door right at 7:00 pm. He rocks back on his heels and stares down at his feet while he waits for his friend to let him in. He's wearing what he considers his nicest jeans, a cashmere sweater of unknown origin, and the Oxfords that Shiro got him for his birthday last year.

He hasn't been here since—well, since last time, and he feels a bit awkward. When he left the fitness center this morning, he'd been smiling so much that his cheeks hurt for hours. He and Lance were on the same page then, and even though Keith knows he hasn't changed _his_ mind, there's still a twinge of anxiety telling him that Lance might have.

He looks both ways down the hallway, wondering where his self-confidence went, and he's about half a second away from thinking this wasn't a good idea when the door flings open and—

Oh no.

"Heya, Keith!" Hunk's way-too-cheerful voice greets him.

Oh god, does Hunk _know_ why he's here? Did Lance tell him?

"Hey, Hunk. Is, uh. Lance here?" he questions weakly. Maybe he can make this seem like they're just going to the cafeteria after all and not about to go to some stupidly over-priced restaurant halfway across town.

Hunk just grins at him, and Keith knows that Hunk is way too smart to be fooled by something like that. Damn it.

“Lance is still getting ready. You know how he is.” He laughs fondly through his nose.

Keith nods silently and steps inside. Hunk settles down at his desk and gestures to the couch in the small common area for Keith to sit down. They’re quiet for a few minutes, only the sound of running water from the bathroom and Hunk turning pages in his textbook filling the cozy dorm. Keith notices a new blanket—tapestry?—hanging on the wall over Lance’s desk with bold, geometric patterns in muted primary colors and browns and grays. Lance’s mom must have made that for him over break. Keith’s heart aches at how much he’s missed the past couple of months. What other little things have happened since they last spoke?

“I hope I don’t need to give you the ‘if you hurt him I’ll kill you’ speech,” Hunk’s casual voice breaks him out of his thoughts.

Keith’s eyes widen when he realizes what he’s just implied.

“Hunk, you’ve known me longer than you’ve known Lance,” he points out. 

“Yeah, so you know what I’m capable of,” he laughs. They both know Hunk wouldn’t hurt a fly unless it seriously offended his friends or family or something, but Hunk’s a big guy who’s protective and loyal to a fault.

“Don’t worry, I’ll have him back by midnight.”

He glances over and finds Hunk studying him.

“Seriously though, man, Lance has wanted this for a long time. And I don’t just mean with you.”

Wait a minute.

“You mean you knew…?” Keith trails off, feeling just a touch of nausea and embarrassment sinking into his stomach.

Hunk practically roars with laughter. 

“That you guys were sleeping together? Dude, Pidge could see that with her glasses off. And you don’t even wanna know how many candles Lance would light before I got back from Shay’s. The whole place smelled like a Hallmark store. Kinda obvious what was going on." 

Keith thinks Hunk’s rant is over, but he keeps going, counting off each point on his fingers, “Plus the fact that he talked about you easily 400% more often last semester—Pidge actually calculated it once; the fact that you left your jacket or gloves here on the regular; the fact that his siblings constantly asked to meet you when he Skyped with them, and I don’t even speak Spanish, but it was pretty obvious he’d been talking to them about you; the fact that—”

“Okay! I get it, you can stop now.”

Keith groans and buries his face in his hands, wishing the squishy couch would actually swallow him whole.

Hunk’s tone softens and turns serious once more, and if he wasn’t obviously talking to Keith, he’d think he wasn’t meant to hear it.

“He used to tell me how badly he wanted a relationship, but he didn’t think he’d ever be in one because he was too weird or obnoxious or stupid or just… unlovable.”

Keith whips his head up to look at Hunk incredulously. “But he’s not— Why would he think that? _Any_ of that?”

Hunk shrugs. “You know he has self-esteem issues, dude. And I know _you_ used to tell me similar things about yourself.”

And, yeah. Keith may or may not have definitely had those exact thoughts about himself before. Shiro had tried tirelessly to squash those feelings whenever they would seep out, but it was hard to hear from someone who was basically flawless and already in a deeply loving relationship.

He hadn’t known the extent of Lance’s feelings, though. It frustrated him. He wishes Lance could see how fun and carefree and kind and loving and witty he was, without seeing two negatives for every positive. Or at the very least to not see some of his attributes as negatives. Because let’s be honest, Lance is definitely obnoxious, but that wasn’t a negative. It was just part of what made him unique. Part of what made Keith realize that _he_ wanted more than just sex, too. 

“What if this doesn’t work, Hunk? What if this is a total disaster?”

Hunk gives him a crooked smile.

“The two of you are hands down the most stubborn and unnecessarily competitive people I know. But it’s always worked, y’know?”

Keith snorts. “I guess.”

“I’m serious! You both have issues, yeah, but you help each other deal with them, even if you don’t realize it. Like when we first met, you could barely talk to another human being without sounding like an asshole—hey, don’t give me that look, man, you know what I mean—and he felt like he didn’t have anything to look forward to until you started challenging him to everything you did.”

Keith feels like he just got hit by a train. Or a bus, at the very least. He’s known Lance for, what? Almost four years now? He’s known Hunk since they were kids—they grew up across the street from each other—and Hunk knew Lance from high school while Keith went to private school. But Keith never really knew how far back Lance’s self-esteem issues went. Or that he’s actually _helped_ him in some way. He didn’t think it was possible, but he feels ten times worse about the last few times he and Lance slept together and Keith all but flat-out rejected his attempts at intimacy.

“You guys could be really good for each other,” Hunk concludes.

Keith can’t find it in himself to disagree.

Lance bursts through the bathroom door a minute later in dark jeans and—dear _lord_ —a dark gray pea coat in place of his normal green-and-yellow monstrosity of a jacket. It accentuates his narrow waist and broad shoulders and Keith just might be having an aneurism right now. The navy scarf draped loosely around his neck makes his eyes _shine_ and if he wasn’t determined to keep this date PG-13, Keith would have absolutely kicked Hunk out of his own room.

“Hey, handsome, ready to go?” Lance shoots him an over-exaggerated wink, and Keith feels the tension in his shoulders seep out as he laughs.

“I was ready fifteen minutes ago, your highness.”

Keith takes Lance’s offered hand and hauls himself out of the depths of the couch. He stumbles a little on his feet, Lance steadying him with a firm hand against his low back. Lance gives him the softest of smiles, and instead of looking away, Keith returns it.

“You two are gross, get out of here already!” Hunk groans from his desk, completely belying the conversation he and Keith had just minutes ago. “And remember, red wine for steak and chicken, white for fish.”

“But what about—”

“Rosé is blasphemous, Lance, don’t even start.”

Lance pouts. “Yes, mama Hunk. See ya!”

Lance winds his arm with Keith’s and drags him out the door.

They walk arm and arm down the short hallway and the one flight of stairs to the main entrance. Keith breaks contact to push open the door for Lance, who beams at him.

“So… your bike is out of commission for the winter, right? How’re we gonna get there?” Lance asks, warm breath mingling with the chilly winter air.

“Shiro let me borrow his car,” Keith replies, relinking their arms. He’d tell himself it’s just for warmth, but he’s been practically craving Lance’s touch the past few months—hell, the past few _hours_ since their chaste kiss in the fitness center—and denying it just feels counterproductive.

Lance stops in his tracks, causing Keith to stumble once again.

“Whoa, he did? In exchange for what? Your first born?” Lance asks incredulously.

“Worse: a month of dish duty.” Keith still can’t believe _that_ was Shiro’s ultimatum. It should have been enough for him that he was finally trying to do something right for once. But now he had to actually trek to his brother’s apartment several times a week and do his stupid dishes.

“But you _hate_ doing the dishes!”

“No shit, Sherlock. You know how crazy the buses are on the weekends, though. And we can’t exactly walk there.” _And I really wanted to impress you_ , Keith doesn’t say.

Lance shoots Keith a shit-eating grin before finally continuing toward the parking lot.

“You liiiike me, you really liiiike me! You wanna daaaate me, you wanna kiiiiss me!” His sing-song voice is cuter than it has any right to be.

“ _Miss Congeniality_ , seriously? That movie’s ancient.” Keith grouses, but he couldn’t hide the smile pulling the corners of his lips if he tried.

Lance actually _giggles_ and, yeah, Keith’s in way over his head.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t decide if I want to die in this car or have sex in it,” Lance says as Keith peels out of the parking lot in his brother’s Tesla.

Keith mentally begs his dick to be good for _five fucking seconds_ and tries desperately not to think about Lance sprawled in the back seat, dark skin contrasting with the pale gray leather, messy hand prints streaking down fogged windo—nope.

Nope nope nope. Not going there.

He takes a deep breath, hoping Lance doesn’t notice the slight shudder on the exhale.

“Well if it’s the first one, Shiro would get Pidge to Frankenstein you back from the dead just to kill you again, and if it’s the second, he’d kill both of us and our bodies would never be found.”

Lance lets out a low whistle as he runs his palms along the leather dashboard.

“Totally worth it.”

Keith thinks he just might be right.

 

* * *

 

It’s only a ten-minute drive to the restaurant. Keith asks Lance how his break was, and is relieved that it isn’t awkward. Lance tells him about his Christmas and the gifts his siblings made for him, about his psychology internship this coming summer helping kids who’ve had some kind of trauma in their lives, about falling on his ass in front of a bunch of freshmen the first day back on campus.

Keith laughs and smiles and answers all of Lance’s questions in return. He didn’t realize exactly how much he missed having him in his life—how easy it is to talk to him about everything and nothing.

 

* * *

 

The restaurant is dimly lit with white string lights woven around the potted bushes and trees between the sleek black benches in the waiting area. Round lamps hanging above the few tables in view cast a soft glow onto dining couples. A slow piano melody interspersed with deep cello chords lingers in the air, and Keith would be surprised if there wasn’t a live ensemble hidden somewhere. Waiting guests murmur softly to one another, as if they’ve done this a million times before and know not to carry on a conversation above a certain decibel.

It’s—incredible.

He’s never been one for _this_ kind of lifestyle, but Keith would be lying if he said he didn’t get why Shiro and Allura frequented places like this.

He feels Lance nudge his arm, snapping him out of his stupor.

“How the flying fuck did you manage to get reservations here?” He’s wide-eyed, and Keith can make out a faint redness on his cheeks and nose from the cool winter air.

“Dumb luck, mostly.”

Lance snorts, but the smile tugging at his lips tells Keith he’s not being malicious.

It was dumb luck, too. Keith had called right after he left the fitness center that morning, and only managed to get a table because another couple had cancelled their reservation just minutes before. Apparently this was the type of place people booked _weeks_ in advance. Something he probably—definitely—should have thought about before blurting out to Lance that he wanted to take him here.

Oh well. It worked out, didn’t it? Keith knows Lance isn’t fussy and would have been just as content going to Taco Bell. He feels like he needs to go above and beyond, though. Like he has to show Lance he’s serious about wanting more than just a fuck buddy. Like he’s worth more.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” a petite woman dressed in a black pantsuit asks.

“Uh, yes, we have a reservation for Kogane,” Keith tells her.

“Excellent. Your table is ready now, please follow me.” She plucks two leather-bound menus from the side of the podium and guides them through the restaurant to a secluded table next to a stunning stained glass window.

“Your waiter will be with you shortly. Enjoy!” The hostess pads away once they’ve pulled out their chairs and thanked her.

Lance removes his jacket in one swift motion and Keith very nearly drools at the sight. He’s wearing a goddamn _waistcoat_ and a deep burgundy button-up shirt with the sleeves folded up neatly to his elbows, revealing strong forearms. Keith feels a pang in his chest when he thinks about the last time he felt Lance’s arms around him. He hangs up his coat along with Keith’s on the coat rack next to their table, and Keith has to avert his eyes because knows he isn’t strong enough not to ravish Lance right on the pristine table if he sees how good his ass must look in those jeans.

“This carpet feels like a cloud,” Lance says as he shuffles his weight back and forth as if testing whether he’ll actually fall through the floor.

God, he’s such a dork.

Lance takes his seat across from Keith. He doesn’t miss how Lance’s eyes roam over his torso and the almost subconscious way his tongue darts across his lower lip.

At least they’re in the same boat here.

They lock eyes, and Keith is transfixed at the pretty curtain Lance’s long eyelashes cast over his cheeks.

“Hullo gentlemen!” a cheery—Australian?—man chirps, causing Keith to jerk up and smack his knee on the underside of the table.

He hisses, rubbing his knee with a little more force than necessary to soothe the ache, and Lance snickers at him.

“Ouch, that had to’ve hurt! Shall I fetch you some ice?” The tall man bends at the waist so he’s eye level with Keith, and Keith can see every hair follicle on his moustache.

“Uh… no? No, I’m good, thanks.”

“Right then! My name’s Coran and I’ll be your server this evening! Can I start you off with something to drink?”

Their server turns to Lance first, seeming satisfied that Keith doesn’t need any First Aid.

“Can I get a water with lemon, please? Ooh and some garlic knots would be amazing. I know those aren’t drinks, obviously, but can we order them now?” he asks in a rush.

Coran chuckles, and says, “Of course! They’re quite the popular item here!”

When Coran turns to Keith, he only hesitates for a second before asking, “Can you guys make Shirley Temples?”

“Can we ever! Would you like extra cherries?”

Keith can feel the heat slowly creeping into his face, but nods, and adds, “Yes, please” as an afterthought. He really shouldn’t be embarrassed. It’s just Lance. He knows about Keith’s love of sugary drinks—has ever since he pointed out the immense stash of Capri Sun in his dorm freshman year and begged for a Pacific Cooler.

“Great! Our specials this evening are roasted lobster and artichoke heart soup with black truffle; seared quail foie gras with citrus and caviar salad; and mung bean linguini in pesto with fresh kale and collard greens—a personal favorite, if I do say so myself.”

Keith glances over at Lance, eyes wide.

“Everything is superb, but take a gander at the menus and let me know if you have any questions! I’ll be back in a jiffy with your drinks and those garlic knots.” Their waiter must be at least forty years old, but bounds away as if he were in his teens.

As suggested, they take a gander at the menus.

“I can’t pronounce half of these dishes,” Lance says, eyebrows pinched together as he skims the pages.

“The ‘specials’ probably should have been a hint that they have some weird shit here.”

“Look at this!” Lance flattens the menu on the table, knocking the delicately-arranged silverware out of place, and points to an item under the _Pizza_ category. “‘This exquisite pizza… blah, blah blah… and is topped with fresh, lime-seasoned shrimp, Mediterranean cauliflower and _organic water buffalo mozzarella_ ,’” he reads. “Is that even a thing?”

“I guess? Can you milk buffalos?”

“Hang on, I need to Google this,” Lance says, leaning back in his chair far enough to dig his phone out of his pocket.

He types quickly on his phone, the pale blue glow practically a beacon in the dim restaurant.

“Holy shit, you can!” he exclaims, too loud for the quiet restaurant. “That’s crazy. And also gross?”

Keith sees an elderly couple two tables down from them look over and shake their head disapprovingly in between sips of wine. He tries to ignore the dread settling into his stomach telling him that this night is headed for disaster. Great.

Keith glances over the menu again and doesn’t see _anything_ that sounds even remotely good. And he isn’t even a picky eater. Half of these dishes are just straight-up _nasty_ and judging by the way Lance’s face is contorted, he’s thinking the same.

Coran returns after the third read-through of the menu (and endless jokes at all the Weird Shit™ on it) and Keith feels relief wash over him that they didn’t put anything unsavory on the garlic knots. Lance had been so excited for those, and if they defiled them with, with—pickled deer brains or who _knows_ what, Keith wouldn’t be above crying.

“Are we ready to order, lads?” Coran asks cheerfully.

With a quick glance at each other, Keith asks, “Can we have a few more minutes?”

“Absolutely! Too many choices, I know,” he laughs, and Keith feels the color drain from his face. “I’ll be by again shortly, but if you decide before then just give a wave to that gentleman over there and he’ll page me for you!”

When he’s out of earshot, Lance’s low “Uhhh…” makes Keith groan. “So did you see anything edible, or…?”

For the second time in less than an hour, he hides in his hands.

“This was such a bad idea, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles. This place is fucking beautiful and the music is fucking beautiful and _Lance_ is fucking beautiful but this is so not their style.

Keith feels warm hands wrap around his wrists and delicately tug them away from his face.

“Hey, do you wanna get out of here?” Lance asks, low and gentle.

Keith lifts his eyes to meet his, and sees Lance’s features open and understanding. His skin is _glowing_ and despite, or maybe because of, the bitter knowledge that this might be his first and last time seeing him like this, Keith wants to sear the image into his mind forever.

“I want to not be a terrible date,” Keith breathes out, lowering his gaze.

“You’re not a terrible date, Keith.” Lance is still holding his wrists, and Keith hopes he can’t feel his pulse racing at the light contact after months of hardly even seeing him. “This place is just stupidly fancy. I’m pretty sure the hostess had solid gold glasses.”

Keith isn’t convinced. “If you say so.”

Lance drops one of his wrists and slaps his own hand down on the table, causing the utensils and appetizer dishes to clink against one another.

“It is law!” he declares in a truly horrendous impersonation of President Obama.

Keith laughs through his nose and feels the nervousness in his belly begin to unwind.

Lance unceremoniously grabs at least three garlic knots and stuffs them in his mouth, cheeks bulging at the sides. It’s simultaneously the cutest and the dumbest thing Keith’s seen all day.

“’Ese ah de’icious, tie un!” Lance’s garbled mess of a sentence makes sense when he holds out the square plate for Keith to take a piece.

Maybe if those are actually good, they can suck it up and find something they’d like. They must be able to do custom orders here, right? He’s never had _quail_ before, but can it really be that different from chicken or turkey? Maybe he can play it safe with some soup or that water buffalo pizza. He knows Lance is allergic to seafood, so that eliminates several of the meals for _him_ , but—

Ugh. Keith is a horrible date. Why didn’t he look up the damn menu online first?

He picks a garlic knot off the top and bites into it without pause, and it does, in fact, taste delicious for all of two seconds before he is assaulted with an _entire_ clove of garlic smack in the center. He promptly spits it out on his plate and chugs half of his Shirley Temple to wash the overwhelming taste out of his mouth. His taste buds feel like they are on fire and not even all the grenadine in the world is enough to get rid of it. He loves garlic, but _what the hell_.

Lance seems to have managed to chew enough of the mass of bread to have realized exactly what Keith did seconds ago. He’s looking at Keith with pleading eyes and a deep frown that’s slightly crooked with his still puffed out cheeks. He clearly doesn’t know whether to spit it out or attempt to swallow it.

Lance eventually manages to choke down the bread before reaching for his own drink and downing it in several deep gulps.

Keith bursts out laughing.

“What the hell is so funny? Who puts that much _raw_ garlic in _anything_?” Lance demands as he wipes his tongue on the white cloth napkin.

Keith can feel tears forming in the corner of his eyes, and he pulls the sleeve of his sweater over his palm to wipe them away.

“We’ve both, on numerous occasions, swallowed each other’s come and also eaten each other out, and here we are, spitting out fancy garlic bread.”

Lance is quiet for a beat as if registering Keith’s words, then begins to chuckle quietly, progressively becoming louder as his shoulders shake with the effort to keep quiet.

“Oh my god. We really need to get out of here,” Lance says after taking three steadying breaths.

“Domino’s and Star Wars marathon?” Keith asks, hopeful.

“Got it in one.”

Lance turns and lifts his hand to flag the attendant, who nods once and says something into a landline phone at his station.

Coran is by their table in an instant. “What’ll it be, then!” he exclaims.

“Could we actually get the check? Turns out this place isn’t really doing it for us,” Keith tells him, only feeling slightly guilty for not having covered his obviously-spit-out food with his napkin or something.

“Ah,” Coran says, nodding in understanding. “No problem at all! That happens quite often with young couples, I’ve noticed. My advice? You don’t need glitzy restaurants and five-star meals if you truly enjoy each other’s company.”

And that’s—probably the wisest thing Keith’s heard in a long time. The sincerity and complete lack of hostility or annoyance in his voice makes Keith grateful that they got him as their waiter. He thanks him before the lanky man retreats then returns promptly with the slip.

Keith leaves him a generous tip. He’d already mentally spent a lot more than an appetizer and one drink, and he figures it’s the least he can do for basically taking up a table at a renowned restaurant for half an hour.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, c’mere for a sec,” Lance says as soon as they exit the restaurant.

He takes out his phone and pulls off one glove with his teeth while he brings up the camera, turning it around to face them.

He tugs Keith close by the waist, and he’s engulfed in warmth as Lance brings his face close to his and smiles wide for the camera. Keith’s own smile comes naturally as he meets Lance’s eyes through the screen. Lance takes the photo and leans in, his soft hair still tickling Keith’s forehead as he shows him the photo.

“Not bad, huh?”

Yeah, definitely not bad. The lights wrapped neatly around the bare trees cast a speckled glow across their shoulders. A gentle flurry of snow had started to fall for the second time that day, a few flakes out of focus in front of them, and a light dusting beginning to build up on their shoulders. Lance’s smile is _blinding_ , eyes half-lidded and reflecting the lanterns lining the walkway to the entrance. Keith doesn’t even look bad himself, and he’s usually not a fan of selfies.

“Can you send me that?”

“Mhmmm! I’m renaming it ‘we tried dot jay-peg.’”

Keith snorts out a small laugh. His phone vibrates with the text notification just as they reach the car, and he feels his stomach flip. He knows he’s going to keep the photo forever even if this date doesn’t work out.

Well. Even more than it’s already not worked out.

 

* * *

 

Lance orders cheesy bread and a large half veggie and half meat-lover’s pizza—without the garlic crust—online as they make the short drive back to campus.

“Are we going to your dorm or mine? I need to tell them where to deliver it.”

“My roommate switched schools after last semester, so mine, I guess,” Keith tells him.

“No way, you have a single now? That’s rad.” He taps in the address. “Should be about half an hour.”

“Thank god.”

 

* * *

 

They only have to wait an extra ten minutes back at Keith’s dorm for the food to arrive, and it smells _heavenly_.

Keith texts Shiro that his car is still in pristine condition, and chooses to ignore the string of question marks asking why they’re back so soon. He busies himself getting two plates, a pile of napkins, two bottles of water, and two Capri Suns while Lance fiddles with Keith’s laptop, attempting to hook it up to the TV.

“So how do you want to watch these?” Lance asks, untangling the laptop’s power cable and plugging it into the wall.

“Here, let me do that. You get some food before it gets cold,” Keith tells him. He’s starving, himself, but he feels terrible that the restaurant didn’t work out, and wants Lance to at least get first pick of the pizza.

Lance, ever the sweetheart, puts a slice of each half of the pizza on each plate along with a few pieces of cheesy bread. He hands Keith the plate with the two middle pieces of the cheesy bread—his favorite—and Keith thinks he might be just a little bit in love with him.

He bites the inside of his cheek, fearing he might actually admit as much out loud and make this date—is it even still a date at this point?—end real fast.

“What do you mean ‘how do we want to watch these?’” Keith asks.

“You know, release order, chronological order, machete order…” he says around a mouthful of pizza.

“What’s machete order?”

“You don’t know what machete order is?” Lance balks at him.

“Obviously not, idiot.”

Lance huffs, putting down his plate after another large bite of pizza. Keith finally digs into his own food, and _sweet Jesus_ he is so glad he’s not eating quail right now.

“So, watching the series in the order they were released in or in chronological order kind of screws everything up, right? Because if you watch Episode I to Episode VI, the ‘Luke I am your father’ thing is spoiled—”

“He doesn’t actually say, ‘Luke,’ Lance, he says—”

“Shut up, I know. Let me finish.” Keith rolls his eyes, but nods for him to continue. “And if you watch in the order they were released—IV, V, VI, I, II, III—you get that creepy view of young Anakin, and you have no idea who he is, which is super confusing.”

“Okay… so what is machete order then?”

“It keeps the story about Luke, basically, and doesn’t spoil anything. You watch them IV, V, II, III, then VI, and fuck Episode I, because no one likes that and it makes no sense.”

“But that’s my favorite one!” Keith interjects.

Lance blinks at him. “You are _actually_ the worst. It’s so bad!”

“When was the last time you watched it?”

“Uh… I think when I was like five? Even then I knew it was terrible.”

Keith puts his plate down, having finished a slice and a half and the cheesy bread. “We’re watching The Phantom Menace,” he declares.

He pulls the DVD off his bookshelf and snaps open the case, already sliding the disc into his laptop when Lance finally begins to protest.

“Keith! C’mon, it’s awful. I’m gonna die,” he whines.

“No you’re not, you big baby.” He puts on his best puppy dog face and turns to Lance. “Please?”

Lance narrows his eyes, ripping off a large chunk of crust with his teeth and chewing in slow, methodical movements.

“Fine.”

Keith turns away to hide his smirk, and hits play on the laptop. Lance flops down onto the couch, laying on his back across the length of it as if in protest of the movie choice, socked feet dangling off the very end and one arm propped behind his head.

Keith shrugs and crosses the room to flick off the overhead light, leaving the room awash in a faint glow as the familiar yellow text ticks across the screen. He pushes the small coffee table toward the TV and settles on the floor, his back against the center of the couch.

They watch in comfortable silence—the kind that only happens between people who’ve known each other long enough to not feel the need to be constantly talking.

Keith’s bladder forces him to get up just as Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan are landing on Naboo. He relieves himself quickly, washes his hands and stares at himself in the mirror. His bangs are getting a tad too long, and the subtle bags under his eyes are telling of the tossing and turning he’d been doing last night—and not in the fun way. He had been trying to work up the courage to ask Lance out the next morning, running through the conversation a million times in the million ways it could have played out. He really hadn’t been expecting Lance to agree to the date. And even though Keith feels like they might be salvaging it a little bit, he can feel nerves start wracking his body once again.

It _is_ going okay, right? They’re not really acting any differently than they used to, and Keith can’t tell if that’s a good or a bad thing. Maybe if he tried getting closer to Lance, that would help show that he actually does want a _relationship_ and not just friendship. Cuddling, then? But what if Keith takes it too far and Lance thinks he’s just trying to go back to their Friends with Benefits relationship? _Oh god._ He turns on the cold tap, splashing water on his face to shake away the thought of doing that to Lance again. A few drops roll down his chin, and he wipes them away with the hand towel before they drip onto the collar of his sweater.

“You okay in there?” Keith hears Lance’s slightly muffled voice through the door.

He dries the rest of his face, hurriedly exiting the bathroom. Lance is propped up on the couch now, looking at him quizzically.

“Yeah, fine. Just thought I had a zit.” He should feel bad about lying, but Lance really doesn’t need to know how on edge Keith is right now, or  _why_ he’s feeling that way.

“I hope you didn’t try to pop it, that’s a nightmare for your pores,” Lance tells him.

“I didn’t have one, jerk.”

Lance grins and pats the back of the couch. “In that case, c’mere.”

Keith stalls. Is he really asking him to…? Lance’s face shows no sign of doubt or sarcasm. Okay then. Keith climbs over the back of the couch as Lance leans back down, Keith settling into the space between him and the back of the couch. His heart lurches at the realization that maybe Lance just meant for him to sit next to him on the couch and not half _on top of him_ , but his friend just wraps an arm around his shoulders, and Keith feels the tension there instantly dissolve. He lets out a small sigh as Lance reaches out to resume the movie.

“You didn’t have to pause it, you know,” Keith tells him, acutely aware of the casual way their legs tangle together and how incredible it feels to be this close to Lance again. Truth be told, they’ve only ever cuddled a few times, and usually not longer than a few minutes after particularly Earth-shattering orgasms. He desperately, selfishly hopes this lasts longer.

“Of course I did, I can’t stand Jar-Jar. If I have to suffer through him, so do you.”

Keith lets out a shaky laugh. “He is pretty annoying, I’ll give you that.”

 

* * *

 

Half an hour later, Keith tentatively brushes his fingers against Lance’s hand resting on his chest. Lance’s fingers spread and Keith takes that as an invite to lace their fingers together, thanking the stars that his palms aren’t sweaty for once.

“I can’t do this, Keith,” Lance says abruptly, Keith feeling more than hearing the low rumble of his voice where his ear is pressed against Lance’s chest.

Keith freezes, holds his breath, tries to ignore how much that phrase reminds him of the way he ended their Friends with Benefits arrangement last semester. He knew this would happen—Lance realizing he doesn’t actually want anything to do with him. But he’s so warm. So comfortable and familiar. Keith can smell Lance’s cologne and faint traces of fabric softener and something he can’t quite name but is distinctly _Lance_. He just needs another minute. Just one more minute of this, and he’ll get up and let Lance walk back to his dorm by himself and tell Hunk how awful he is and—

And why is he still rubbing his hand against Keith’s back?

He lifts his head just enough to look tentatively at Lance, whose face is scrunched up, still staring at the screen.

 _Oh no._ He really is having an awful time.

Keith springs up off of Lance, heart sinking as Lance bolts upright immediately after as if he’s been waiting to do that this whole time.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I just thought—never mind. It’s stupid. I’ll let you go.”

Keith would laugh at how drastically the tables have turned between the two of them, but he just feels acidic bile rising in his throat.

“Whoa, wait, what’s wrong?” Lance says, now fully sitting up.

“You’re not having a good time, and I was too forward, and—”

“Hey, what?” Lance cuts him off. He scoots closer to Keith, who’s sitting on the very edge of the cushion, ready to bolt. “I’m not having a bad time at all.”

Keith takes a deep breath, finally able to now that his lungs don’t feel like they’re about to collapse.

“Then why did you say you can’t do this?”

“I can’t…?” Lance slaps his forehead with his palm. “Shit—I meant the _movie_. I can’t watch it, the acting is so bad.” Lance gives him an apologetic look, lips curved up slightly to one side.

“Oh. I thought you meant… Ugh, god, I keep making this weird. This is why I don’t—” _do relationships_ , he thinks.

“Keith.” Lance cups his chin with his thumb and index finger, gently guiding his face up so they can lock eyes. He curls his fingers around to cup his jaw, sweeping his thumb across Keith’s cheekbone, leaving a warm, tingling feeling in its wake. He swallows and wants to look away from Lance’s steady gaze, but finds himself frozen in place.

“You’re not making this weird. You’re not ruining this. It’s just going to take a while to get used to, yeah? Unless… you don’t think it’s a good idea.” He looks unsure all of a sudden, and Keith _hates_ it.

“I do! Honestly, I want this. It’s just…” Keith exhales through his nose, trying to calm his still-racing heart. “Tonight was supposed to be about you and I picked a shitty restaurant and a shitty movie and now am making _you_ worry for no reason.” Keith can feel the heat rising in his face in half anger, half embarrassment.

“This is a two-way street, Keith. It’s not just about me, and you don’t have anything to make up for, okay?”

It feels like Lance read his mind, but Keith isn’t convinced. “But the way I left you last time—”

“Was equally my fault. I could have said something sooner. I just didn’t want to lose what we had, or risk losing you as a friend altogether.” He lets out a shaky laugh. “Which was stupid to think would happen, anyway. We’ve been through a lot of shit and have stuck it out. Something as silly as a crush wouldn’t have done much damage.” His hand sweeps down the side of his neck to rest on his shoulder, and Keith misses the warmth on his cheek immediately.

“It kind of did, though. We didn’t talk for like two months. And that was because I couldn’t get my head out of my ass,” Keith laments.

Lance just shrugs and doesn’t deny it. “But you did.”

Keith snorts and can’t help but nod in agreement. Lance takes his hands and threads their fingers together, palm-to-palm, resting them on their touching knees. Keith’s breath hitches at the innocent gesture.

“I want this, too, okay?” Lance tells him, squeezing his fingers gently. “And you have no idea how happy it makes me that you wanted to do all of this for me.”

Keith feels a supernova explode inside his chest, and before he knows it, he’s flung his arms around Lance’s shoulders and pulled him into a crushing hug.

“Okay,” he whispers into his shoulder.

They stay pressed close for what seems like too long and not long enough, reveling at the contact. Eventually they separate, leaving only a few inches between them.

“How about we watch the pod race scene and call it a night? You look like you could use some sleep,” Lance tells him.

Keith doesn’t want the night to end, but he can feel the exhaustion settling into his bones.

“Sounds good.”

 

* * *

 

They’re lying on the couch again, in the same position as before—before Keith freaked out and assumed he was screwing this up (again)—and he can feel his eyelids drooping.

Lance’s hand rubs along his back in a slow, rhythmic motion, so comforting that not even the high-pitched whines of the racing pods can stop him from nodding off.

He wakes from his light nap what must only be a few minutes later to Lance’s fingers brushing his bangs out of his eyes.

“Rise and shine, Snow White.”

Keith blinks the sleep away and focuses on the smiling face in front of him.

“Don’t you mean Sleeping Beauty?”

“Nah, Snow White was way hotter. And I don’t think blonde hair would suit you.”

Keith laughs lightly, and Lance’s returning grin is something he wants to wake up to every single day of his life. He has the sudden and overwhelming desire to never let this night end.

He bites his lip once before murmuring, “Will you stay?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

 

* * *

 

Keith gives Lance a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt to change into, along with a spare toothbrush he thankfully had stashed in his closet. They take turns in the bathroom, Keith catching the tail end of Lance grumbling about his skin care routine before he closes the door. He laughs, knowing there’s no real heat behind it.

Looking at the slight disarray of his small bedroom, he wishes he had at least tidied up a bit. But then again, he hadn’t exactly been planning on them coming back here. _Or_ Lance spending the night. His insides churn, but he can’t tell if it’s in excitement or worry. They haven’t actually done this before, and for some reason, the thought of just sleeping in the same bed as Lance makes him more jittery than any of the times they’ve hooked up.

He pulls back his plush comforter on both sides of the bed and is in the middle of rearranging his pillows when he hears Lance emerge from the bathroom.

“So, do you—” Keith stops short when Lance comes into view, the entirety of his broad, toned chest on display, faint dusting of dark hair trailing from below his navel and disappearing under the sweatpants slung low on his hips. Keith nearly chokes and tries to cover it with a cough. _Smooth one, Keith._

Lance is clutching the shirt Keith gave him in his hand. “Uh, is this okay? I usually get pretty hot at night, so…” he trails off, uncharacteristically bashful.

Keith swallows and pushes down the heat beginning to pool in his gut. He nods, then adds, “’S’nothing I haven’t seen before.”

The gentle answering laugh seems to shake him out of it. “Good point.” Lance bounds onto the bed and immediately cocoons himself in the blanket and sheets. Keith lets him roll around while he switches off his desktop lamp and tentatively sits on the edge of the mattress, resting a hand on the mound of fabric where he assumes Lance’s shoulder is.

His head pokes out, hair standing on end from the built up static in the blankets. Keith flattens it down, the small zap of electricity in his fingertips nothing compared to the feeling that radiates through him when he meets Lance’s eyes. They’re silent for a beat, and Keith swears he can name a half dozen constellations in the faded freckles dotting high cheek bones and the bridge of his nose.

“I liked my hair like that, thank you very much,” Lance declares. Keith snorts, ruffles it back up without finesse, and begins unwinding the blanket. Once unraveled and somewhat straightened out, Keith slips beneath the covers next to Lance, the gravity of the moment finally sinking in when they’re both horizontal. And when did Keith become such a blushing virgin? He’s never been this nervous about just _sharing a bed_ with someone, especially someone he’s known as long as Lance, his best friend, for god’s sake. But maybe their closeness is why it matters this time.

They slide close, legs entwining into a comfortable position. It’s surreal to think that not even 24 hours ago they were hardly speaking.

They talk about their classes, the big snowstorm coming next weekend, the new albums of their few shared favorite bands. The simple kinds of things that forged their friendship almost instantly several years ago. They argue, of course, but it’s good-natured.

“I can’t believe you sleep with socks on,” Lance says after a lull in their conversation, squeezing Keith’s socked feet between his own, bare ones.

“Shut up. I don’t like being barefoot.”

“Do you shower with socks on, too?”

“Obviously not.”

“Masturbate?”

“I mean… I don’t always get fully undressed, so sometimes?”

“What about at the beach?”

He hopes Lance’s eyes have adjusted well enough to the darkness to see his glare. Lance gasps. “Are you a _shoobie_ , Keith?”

“You’re the worst.” He rolls over onto his other side, facing away from Lance and pulling the blankets tighter across his shoulders. “I’m going to sleep.”

“Aw, c’mon, you’re no fun. I promise I’ll still date you even if you are a shoobie.”

Keith ignores the funny flip in his stomach at the thought of actually _dating_ Lance. As in plural dates. More than one. Not just tonight. “You keep using that word, I don’t think it means what you think it means.”

“Oooh, are you trying to turn me on with _Princess Bride_ quotes? Because it’s working, I’m at least half mast right now. Keep going, farm boy.”

Keith can’t help it, he _giggles_ and turns slightly to look at Lance over his shoulder. The relaxed smile playing on his lips is so genuine that Keith shimmies onto his side again and plants a soft kiss on the tip of his nose.

“As you wish.”

Lance’s eyes widen, lips parting ever so slightly. A thousand words are exchanged in their brief glance before their eyes slip shut and they come together like magnets. Their lips move together in slow, languid kisses, breaths mingling like they were never meant to have ever been separate.

Keith rolls onto his back, and Lance props himself up on one elbow, chasing his mouth. Keith pulls him the rest of the way on top of him and deepens their kiss in one fluid motion, reveling in the sharp intake of breath he hears in return. He’s glad he’s laying down, because he has no doubt that his knees would have given out at the dizzying feeling of Lance’s tongue laving his own.

They don’t attempt to take it any further, content with simply relearning each other without the crushing weight of “just friends” hanging over them. Eventually, they run out of steam and content themselves with peppering tiny kisses on each other. Those, too, come to an end, and before Keith’s brain can think of some reason why he shouldn’t feel as deliriously happy as he does, he falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

Keith awakes the next morning to dim rays of light peeking around the edges of his window shades, washing the room in a pale yellow-orange glow. His body feels heavy but relaxed in the way that only a solid 8 hours of sleep can make you feel—something he admittedly hasn’t felt in who knows how long. He’s warm, unusually so. Normally he’s freezing in the mornings, scrunching up his blankets as much as he can around him, but this morning—

 _Oh._ How could he forget?

He finally notices Lance, arm draped over Keith’s stomach and head nuzzled into his shoulder, the expanse of his back and shoulders visible from where the blanket has slipped down. He can only see a fraction of his face, but the slow, even breaths he can feel where they’re pressed together tell him he’s still asleep. Keith’s never used the word “radiant” in his life, but he’s sure it’s the only word that can accurately portray how beautiful Lance looks in this moment, all relaxed features, tousled hair, and sun-kissed skin.

He brushes a few stray locks of hair out of his eyes and feels Lance begin to stir, a low hum in the back of his throat. He blinks his eyes open and turns his face up, brilliant cobalt nearly taking his breath away.

A slow smile spreads across Lance’s face, eyes crinkling in the corners. He leans up to press a kiss at the base of Keith’s neck, then stretches out in an exaggerated yawn.

“So,” he says, voice still raspy with sleep. “What’s the plan for date number two?”

And, _god_ , Keith isn’t in love with him—not yet—but he could be. He can see himself falling completely and easily, faster and quicker than drifting to sleep with Lance’s arms wrapped tight around him. He can picture heady nights and lazy mornings, cooking together and sharing each other’s shampoo, chaste kisses and touches whenever they feel like them. And maybe he’s looking too far ahead, counting his chickens before they hatch, so to speak, but it feels so _good_ to look forward to something. To actually believe something like this could happen to him. Like a breath of fresh air mixed with a buzzing excitement under his skin.

Keith grins down at him.

“Everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr [@crossmydna](http://crossmydna.tumblr.com) if you want to follow me!
> 
> Also, if you've never heard of the Star Wars "Machete Order," [check it out here](), it's super interesting.


End file.
